


Art of Doubt

by theorangewitch



Series: The Art of Doubt [2]
Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Cyberpunk, Alternate Universe - Human, Gender Changes, Humanformers, Multi, POV Multiple, oops! all lesbians
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-08
Updated: 2020-03-23
Packaged: 2020-11-27 06:48:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,411
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20944097
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theorangewitch/pseuds/theorangewitch
Summary: Ten years after the dissolution of the gang known as The Myriad, two new rival factions, the Autobots and Decepticons, have taken its place as the undisputed rulers of the city of Cybertron's criminal underworld.Windblade, an investigative journalist and foreigner to Cybertron, becomes entangled with the Autobots in her attempts to find the truth about its purpose. Soundwave, the Decepticon's second in command, struggles to reconcile her duties to her friend and leader, a romance with someone on the other side, and revelations about the last time the Autobots and Decepticons worked as one and the people they lost that night. And Arcee, the sister of the now-deceased Myriad leader, seeks revenge on one of Cybertron's most sinister corporations, the biotech giant Thyranotos.





	1. There Will Never Be Another You

**Author's Note:**

> SO! A few things. 
> 
> 1) If you've read Die Happy, this fic will obviously have a very different focus, despite the premise being more or less the same. Still, a good chunk of the (surviving) gang will appear. This fic will also hopefully provide some closure as to what happened to certain characters whose fates were previously uncertain. 
> 
> 2) If you HAVEN'T read Die Happy, welcome! You don't really need to. There are elements of foreshadowing you won't necessarily pick up on/original characters you won't recognize, but otherwise you should be able to understand what all's going on. 
> 
> 3) Like Die Happy, I don't want to commit to a regular update schedule until I'm fully finished. I'm more than halfway done (I think), though it's slow going for a number of reasons. I've got 47k words so far, 90 pages on my Google Doc, totaling to 19 chapters. I'll see you next when it's finished, barring any extenuating circumstances. 
> 
> First off, meet our intrepid journalist: Windblade!

All things considered, Windblade wouldn’t have minded living in a Megabuilding. Chromia would’ve, and she’d spoken of it often, how she thought it was too crowded, too dirty, and, most of all, too loud. But Windblade enjoyed that rush of imperfection, the way the flaws ran so deep, and bloomed on the surface of everyone within. Even so early in the morning, the walkways of the seventh floor were choked with people and noise: chatter and machines and the rush of cars outside. The sun hadn’t risen over the top of the building, and the sky was colored a dull, dusky purple. The only problem was the coffee. Windblade sipped hers and winced at its high temperature and bitter taste. “You sure they don’t have sugar?” she asked Chromia, referring to the vending machine they were standing about ten feet away from. 

Chromia rolled her eyes, but there was a fond smile on her face. “For the third time, I’m sure. Do they not have black coffee in Caminus?”

“They do, I just don’t make a habit of drinking it,” Windblade grumbled. 

It was an unusually cold day in Cybertron, whose temperatures never really dipped that low, and Chromia shivered. “When’s this guy gonna get here? He told you seven am sharp.”

“It’s only 7:02; be patient. Besides, I think he’s here.”

“What makes you say that? You don’t know what he looks like.”

Windblade nodded towards a short, stout man in a brown leather jacket who was leaning on one of the railings and smoking a cigarette. “That’s him.”

“How do you know?”

“Look at us. Look at everyone around here. Everyone who lives here has tattoos and colored hair and noticeable body mods. Everyone except us and him. He’s trying too hard to blend in. He’s also smoking, and nobody does that anymore except people who need a reason to be loitering somewhere.”

Chromia folded her arms. “I’m pleased to announce that it’s only 7:03 in the morning and you’ve already met your showing off quota for the day.”

“Like you don’t show off,” Windblade scoffed at her. “I’m not the one who always jumps out closed windows because I want to look heroic.”

“That was one time!” 

“Twice.”

“It was  _ not  _ twice! If you’re referring to the Militech warehouse, that doesn’t count because the glass was already broken—”

“Windblade?” a voice said from behind Chromia. 

Chromia whirled around to discover the short man standing there. Her hand was already in her bag on her pistol. 

Windblade reached out and grabbed her elbow. “Bumblebee.”

He grinned. “That’s me. But you can call me Deep Throat. Good to finally meet you in person. I’ve heard great things.”

Windblade wished she could say the same. Unfortunately, she knew far less about Bumblebee than she normally liked to about her sources, as Chromia had pointed out several times. All she really knew was that Bumblebee was an Autobot, and therefore a gang member, and therefore a criminal. But there were worse things to be than a criminal. Far, far worse things.

She shook his hand. “Should we walk and talk?” 

“You read my mind. Is she coming with?” He nodded towards Chromia. 

“Max distance of ten feet,” Chromia said, frowning deeply. “She’s a high-level target.”

“Oh, I know. That Militech story. Crazy stuff. No wonder they want you dead,” Bumblebee said to Windblade. “I don’t have a problem with her tagging along so long as she’s trustworthy.”

“I trust her with my life on a daily basis,” Windblade told him firmly. “She knows how important to me this is.”

“Then I trust her as well. Let’s walk.” And they walked, Bumblebee and Windblade next to one another, and Chromia trailing behind. “Unfortunately, there isn’t much I can tell you just yet,” Bumblebee began.

Windblade raised an eyebrow at him. “Then why invite me here at all?”

“A show of good faith. And to give you this.” He handed her a manila envelope from his bag. “Go ahead, open it.”

She did. Inside was a file folder labeled only ‘Bumblebee of Lower Iacon.’ “What’s this?”

“Everything. Everything there is to know about yours truly. Birth certificate. Medical records. The receipts from my trip to the pharmacy yesterday.” 

Windblade didn’t know whether to be awestruck, impressed, or horrified, and settled on a combination thereof. “ _ Why? _ ”

“Show of good faith,” Bumblebee repeated. “You’re putting a lot of trust in us, in  _ me _ , and I want you to know that that trust isn’t misplaced. So, here’s all of my shit. Chromia can take a look at it later as well, if the both of you would like. Let me know if you have any questions.”

Windblade had many, many questions, but she instead took a cursory flip through the file. “You were in the psychiatric institution?”

Bumblebee shrugged. “For a little while. Cybertron’s finest. I was booked on arson charges, and it was Bellaire or prison. I’m better now; the Autobots gave me a purpose that I didn’t have before.” 

“And what purpose is that? Your messages alluded to something greater than property theft.”

Bumblebee grimaced. “See, unfortunately, that’s what I can’t tell you. Not in detail, not in public, and not over text. But here’s the long and short of it, or rather, I have some questions that might get you thinking. First off, who do we steal from?”

“The Decepticons?” Windblade tried. Their feud was the most infamous aspect of life in Cybertron.

“Aside from them. Surely you’ve read articles.”

“I have, of course I have—“ Windblade thought for a minute to yesterday’s Channel 54 front page. And the day before yesterday’s. And before that. In between the articles about fights with Decepticons, yellow journalism that played up the rivalry between their mysterious leaders, there had been articles about the thefts the Autobots had committed. Militech warehouses, Thyranotos storefronts, InfoComp server buildings and, just last week, the Fourth-Third bank Downtown. Corporations. They were stealing exclusively from corporations. Nobody in other cities dared to do that, not on this scale. But they were. 

Bumblebee must’ve seen the recognition dawning on her face because he said, “And there we have it. Second question: You’re from Caminus, right? Do the corporations in Caminus bother the gangs?”

“Caminus doesn’t have gangs. Not major ones, anyway.”

“Fine, fine. What about other cities?”

“No. Not that I know of. They leave each other alone.”

“Then what about here is different? In other cities, the corps let the police handle the gangs, when they let anyone handle the gangs. But here, Militech, Thyranotos. They deal with us personally. Why?”

They’d reached the bottom floor of the Megabuilding and were staring out at Lower Iacon as the sun rose. The crowd had only tripled in size since the beginning of the day, and Windblade felt people pushing on her from every angle. Chromia appeared behind her and placed a firm hand on her shoulder. “Don’t shake me just yet,” she said.

“I wasn’t trying to,” Windblade assured her. “Bee?”

“Meet me at our central base of operations. The address is in the file,” he said. “Next week. Noon. This time of day’s too early.” He disappeared into the crowd before Windblade could confirm her willingness to meet. Though frankly, she didn’t have much choice now. 

When they reached their apartment, Chromia and Windblade sat down at the counter next to one another. Chromia whipped out a notepad and started writing.  _ What did you learn?  _ she wrote.  _ What’s the true purpose of the Autobots?  _

Windblade pulled out Bumblebee’s file and a permanent marker and wrote, “ _ I think they’re trying to start a revolution. _ ” 


	2. How It's Been Since

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Second chapter! Sorry for going dark for so long; it's been a hell of a semester. But now I'm quarantined, so I guess it's time for me to get back to work on this. 
> 
> Anyway! Soundwave POV!

The new recruits were called Rumble and Frenzy and even before meeting them Soundwave had been impressed. There were only two of them, and they’d burnt down a Militech warehouse all on their own, like the scrappy little east coast hardasses they were. And they were east coasters, with accents to match. People rarely moved to Cybertron, and they rarely moved away. You were born here, you died here. So that was the first thing she told them. The last time she’d lied to a new recruit she’d regretted it, so she told them the truth:

“You’re probably gonna die here.” 

“In Cybertron?” Frenzy said. “Because yeah,  _ obviously _ .” But Soundwave heard his heartbeat quicken its pace. 

“In the Decepticons,” she corrected. “It’s hard out there. Really there’s one of three ways you’re going to go out.” She held up three fingers and then ticked one down. “One is the law, be it the police or the paramilitary groups belonging to the corporations. Though really, they aren’t much different.”

“I thought the corporations didn’t care about gangs? They don’t in Enwai-C,” Rumble said. Soundwave was pretty sure it was Rumble. They looked exactly the same: small and wide-eyed, with mischief written all over their faces. When they’d introduced themselves to her one of them had said that Rumble always wore blue and Frenzy always wore red, but she was pretty sure that wasn’t true. Still, she was attuning to the subtle differences in their voices, and once she matched name to face for certain she could update her personnel catalog and have their files on hand. Or rather, in eye. 

“Times have changed here,” Soundwave said, in answer to Rumble/Frenzy’s question. “A decade ago, a small group succeeded in destroying a lot of Thyranotos research and then launching a full-scale assault on their campus. Since then, the Autobots and Decepticons have gained prominence over all other gangs, and are far more interested in antagonizing the corps than their predecessors were. That is, when we’re not antagonizing each other.” She didn’t mention that she’d been involved in the ‘full scale assault’ and that it hadn’t played out exactly in the way the rumor mill or the media had described. “Anyway, speaking of the Autobots, they might waste your ass as well. Granted, they don’t like to kill people—“

“‘Cause they’re wimps,” the one she thought was Rumble said. 

“Yeah, sure. ‘Cause they’re wimps. Anyway, you gotta piss ‘em off real bad if you want them to kill you. Which is easier than you’d think for a lotta people here!” Some of the Decepticons liked to go out of their way to pick fights with Autobots. Holdover from their Myriad/Romeo/etc. years she supposed.

“And what’s the third possible way we’re gonna die?” the one she thought was Frenzy asked. 

“One of us. Lugnut or Strika probably. Or, if you’ve supremely messed up, me or Megatron. We don’t take kindly to disloyalty here.” That was partially a lie. Soundwave had only been asked to kill another Decepticon twice in her career with them, and had only gone through with it once. The time she’d gone through with it, he’d actually been an InfoComp spy, so she barely counted that one. The time before that, well. She’d let them get away. Purposefully or not, she still wasn’t sure. 

“Right,” Frenzy said, clearly processing everything she’d said. “And you’re absolutely certain we’ll die in the line o’ duty, so to speak?”

“Positive.” At least, kids like him she was sure about. She had yet to be proven wrong on that front.

“But  _ you’re  _ not dead.”

“Not yet.” 

At that moment, Starscream walked in, his presence announced by the clack of his heeled boots on the concrete floor. “Are these the new recruits, Soundwave?” he asked.

“Starscream,” she said, slinging an arm around his shoulder and drawing him uncomfortably close. He gave her a look that was half grimace, half smile. “I was just about to get to your bit. I don’t think these two are right for the Seeker program, but you could give them the rundown anyway?” 

“Of course,” he said, pushing into her embrace, increasing their mutual discomfort. “What are your cybernetics like?” he asked Rumble and Frenzy. “You don’t have any  _ moral or religious objections  _ to them, do you?”

Rumble (or possibly Frenzy) scoffed. “‘Course not.” 

“We have contacts, like everyone does,” Frenzy (or possibly Rumble) said. “And our old pal Jerry beefed ‘em up for us. They detect weak points now.” He looked very proud.

Starscream smiled, finally pushing off of Soundwave’s shoulder. He was in his element now. “Come and see me, Blitzwing, and Shockwave when you’re through in here. We can get you hooked up with way better shit than that.”

Rumble’s eyes lit up. “Really?”

“Really,” Starscream said, then he waltzed out of the room. 

Soundwave’s shoulders dropped in relief.

“You guys don’t like each other or somethin’?” Frenzy asked. 

Soundwave pinched the bridge of her nose. “Starscream is very smart, and he holds a considerable amount of authority in this organization. You should try and get along with him whenever possible.”

“That wasn’t what I asked.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Soundwave said firmly. “We’re done here, and we can go see Blitzwing and Shockwave now. They’re our weapons engineer and hacker-slash-programmer, respectively.”

“Do you not like Blitzwing or Shockwave either?”

“They’re fine.”

“Better than Starscream?”

“Don’t make me regret hiring you.” 

Rumble and Frenzy giggled at each other. “Too late. That’s our only goal now.”

Soundwave rolled her eyes, but her heart gave a little leap of joy. She liked these kids, and she hoped that the Decepticons wouldn’t chew them up and spit them back out. 

Blitzwing and Shockwave’s shared lab was half messy, half spick and span. Blitzwing’s side of the room was covered in loose tools and knick-knacks, every part of the walls stained with grease and rust and ash. Shockwave’s side, on the other hand, was almost unbearably neat. Their hacking setup was stacked in columns and each machine was labeled in accordance with its purpose. Both people, however, were dressed almost opposite to their workspaces. Shockwave always looked disheveled. They still wore the ratty hoodie and beanie they’d had on when Soundwave had first met them, and they cut their own hair in the mirror in the bathroom. Blitzwing’s hair was neatly braided, and they wore clean khakis and always tightly laced their boots. 

“What’ve you got for the boys?” Soundwave asked as she walked into the lab by way of announcing her presence. Shockwave and Blitzwing never showed fear, but they didn’t like to be startled, especially when working. But only Shockwave was actually in the lab at that moment. 

“Soundwave. You’re here,” Shockwave said without looking up from their work. 

“You’re gonna love this,” Starscream told Rumble and Frenzy, grinning. “Show ‘em what you and Blitzy have cooked up, Shockers.”

“Do not call me that,” they said tersely. Terseness was the closest they came to rage, and rage was the closest they came to any other emotion. They looked up and held the device they’d been messing with between their thumb and forefinger. It was a flat metal disc, a little larger than a bottle cap. “This is a tremor generator. It’s installed in the palm, and can be triggered to create tremors of varying magnitudes in a certain area.” 

Rumble approached slowly, clearly not sure what to make of Shockwave’s flat affect. “Can I see?” he asked, reaching out for the device. 

“It’s not done yet. Be careful with it.” Shockwave placed it in his palm.

“Let me see!” Frenzy demanded of his brother, shaking him by the shoulder. “Is there anything for me?” 

“We’ve been working on a modified version of Starscream’s sonic blaster, but I’ll need some of your vitals for work to continue.”

“Less powerful than mine, I’m sure,” Starscream purred. 

Shockwave ignored him, instead asking, “Have they seen Nickel or Knock Out yet? They should both get a medical file started before we proceed.”

“Not yet,” Soundwave replied. “That’s our next stop.” 

“I’ve also patched what bugs were afflicting Ravage’s vocoder. Test it out, make sure everything is working.” Shockwave picked up the cat’s collar from one of the tables and handed it to Soundwave. “Let me know if there are any further issues.” 

“Of course. Thank you.” Then she turned back to Rumble and Frenzy and said, “Alright, time for your check ups. When was the last time you saw a doctor?” 

The answer was ‘years,’ because of course it had been years. It had been years for everyone. Rumble and Frenzy, in particular, had spent the last three months on a cross-continental road trip from Enwai-C to Cybertron after Militech tore down their old brownstone neighborhood, and before that they’d belonged to a gang not unlike the ones that had dominated Cybertron prior to the rise of the Autobots and Decepticons: gangs that had no larger goals than wealth and power. And so they hadn’t had health care. Because no one had health care.

“I’ll leave you in Nickel’s capable hands,” she announced as they reached her office. The Decepticons had picked up the diminutive doctor a few years back, when they’d had a sharp increase in personnel that Knock Out simply couldn’t keep up with. She was fresh out of jail and a job, and she’d snapped up their offer before the words could even leave Megatron’s mouth. Soundwave knocked on Nickel’s door. “New recruits, looking to start a file.”

“Send them in,” Nickel said. Rumble and Frenzy went in. 

And with that, Soundwave was free to tend to her other tasks. The first was restoring Ravage’s voice. Ravage was waiting in her office along with Buzzsaw and Laserbeak, her other ‘cassettes’ as she fondly called them. She snapped the collar around Ravage’s neck, and he said, “Took Shockwave long enough. Once you speak for the first time it’s hard to go back.”

She scratched the top of his head. “Now there’s my boy. Laserbeak, what did you learn today?”

Laserbeak cocked her head. “The Autobot scout met in person with the journalist this morning, first thing.” 

“Which journalist? Which Autobot scout?” Soundwave asked. She remembered Laserbeak mentioning a journalist the last time they checked in, but she was even more curious now.

“Turbine. No, that’s not right. Fan. No. Windblade.”

Soundwave tapped her chin. Why did that name sound familiar? After a cursory search through her files, she found the name: Windblade of Caminus, a well-known journalist and foreigner to Cybertron. She’d published a story on Militech using brainwashing techniques on employees who’d stepped out of line about a year and a half ago, and it’d made waves.  _ Very impressive,  _ she thought.  _ How is she alive? _ she wondered. People didn’t often cross Militech so publicly and survive. Windblade was fresh-faced and pretty, with short, wavy hair and red face paint around her eyes. Further digging revealed that though she was alive (albeit under 24 hour watch by a bodyguard), many of the sources she’d used to write the story were not. “And which scout?” she asked Laserbeak. The Autobots had several.

“The yellow one.” 

Soundwave sighed. Laserbeak and Buzzsaw were bad with human names at the best of times. “What does that mean? Like, are they blonde, or?” 

“No, no, he’s named after something yellow. Dandelion.”

“Sunshine,” Buzzsaw tried.

“Taxi Cab,” Laserbeak bounced back. 

“Sulfur.”

“Rubber Duck.” 

“Is it Bumblebee by any chance?” Ravage asked, sighing and stretching. 

“That’s him.”

“You see what I’ve had to deal with without my voice these past few days,” Ravage remarked to Soundwave. 

“Don’t be rude to your sisters, Ravage,” she chastised him. “They do good work. Excellent job, LB. I’ll take this info to Megatron and let you know how to proceed. Did you record their conversation?”

“What kind of spy would I be if I hadn’t? I’ll send it to you.” 

She received the conversation and downloaded it onto her eyepiece. It was a long one, nearly two hours. She’d have to go over it thoroughly.  _ What in God’s name do the Autobots want with investigative journalists?  _ “Thanks. Ravage, with me. We’re going to go see Megsy.” 

After Soundwave got out of her meeting with Megatron, she cornered Rumble and Frenzy in the hallway. They were cleaner now than they had been three hours ago. Nickel’s influence, no doubt. She was big on hygiene, and too many Decepticon recruits didn’t give it much priority. “Good news, boys,” Soundwave said. “I just got out of a meeting with Megatron and you two have your first mission. Frenzy, you said you have some sniping experience?” 

“I’m better with melee,” he said hurriedly. “I’m not the best shot in the world.”

“You don’t have to be. In fact, I’d prefer you be mediocre.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not going to commit to a regular schedule just yet, since the fic isn't finished. I'll post a new chapter every time I finish one. Dunno how frequent that'll be, but should be every few weeks or so.


End file.
